


Ricochet

by Lady_of_Rohan



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Accidents, Bonding, Embarrassment, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Injury, Male Bonding, Minor Injuries, Snow, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 22:05:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17353463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_of_Rohan/pseuds/Lady_of_Rohan
Summary: On Arthur's first hunting excursion with Charles, the gunslinger finds that he still has a lot to learn.





	Ricochet

**Author's Note:**

> Based on in-game events of my Arthur being absolutely hideous on his first hunting outing. This was a fun trade with my friend Hazel! ♥ I hope you like it, hon! They are a joy to write! I'm excited to write more of them ASAP! ^_^
> 
> There are some shippy undertones if you look hard enough but I purposely left it ambiguous so it can be read either way.

Boots trudging through the mounds of snow, Arthur felt oddly naked despite the four layers of clothing he was currently donning. It was common knowledge to the Van der Linde gang that he was damned deadly with a bullet... but a bow and arrow? Well, it was a work in progress.

 

Arthur had never been the hunting type. Robberies, petty theft, the bodyguard. _Those_ were his areas of expertise.

 

The gang needed food, though, and badly. With John injured, and the other members keeping watchful eyes on camp, it was left up to he and Charles. Well, mainly him, as Charles was still nursing a nasty burn.

 

And so it was, that Arthur ended up in the frostbitten wilderness, his bow oddly light in his grip in comparison to the weight of steel.

 

Needless to say he far preferred other methods. _Louder_ methods.

 

Though his trusty revolver was still at his hip in case of emergency, Charles had insisted that the cleanest kill, and without scaring other wildlife or attracting bears, would be with a bow. The man seemed to believe in him, in any case, and Arthur knew that Charles wasn't exactly nominated as the most likely to warm up to anyone. He took it as a compliment, honestly, reluctant as he was.

 

He just hoped he didn't botch this up.

 

A clearing could be seen through the trees and the steady drift of snow, leading out into a riverbank. Arthur had almost expected it to be fully frozen over by now, but thankfully, the trickling water over rocks still attracted plenty of local wildlife. It would have been a sight of natural wonder, if not for the bitter chill that had already made his cheeks go numb, the skin of his face badly chapped.

 

Bow held out in front of him, Arthur stepped with a particularly loud _crunch_ of ice-covered ground beneath him, followed shortly by Charles' calm tone carrying to his ears seemingly by the wind itself. Arthur winced.

 

"Tread lightly," the other man said, "there's a few doe up ahead. This might be our only chance."

 

"Easier said than done." Arthur gave a scoff, with a roll of his eyes. "I ain't small, you know."

 

Well over six feet tall, and definitely not a lightweight, Arthur could admit he wasn't the most delicate on his toes. Still, there was amusement in Charles' tone as he gave a quick glance over his shoulder to look at him. He was a lot closer behind him than he'd expected him to be.

 

"I'm bigger than you... or did you forget?"

 

"Damned easy to when you sneak up like that."

 

He swore, Charles moved like a shadow. Even at camp, the man could hardly be heard, both in movement and his stoic lack of words.

 

"In any case," Arthur continued, "still think you're the better man for the job. 'Cept for your hand and all."

 

"It'll heal," Charles reassured, raising his bandaged, burned-up hand, "so for now we've got you."

 

A brief 'uh huh' and something of a grunt was given in response, as Arthur turned his attention back to the deer in the clearing ahead. One wasn't too far off, taking an afternoon drink at what seemed to be the only remaining water source of the sprawling, almost sparkling river.

 

"Make it clean," Charles said, in light reassurance.

 

The first arrow drawn, Arthur pulled back on the string with enough strength to easily bring it to his ear. He aimed, took a deep breath, and let go. The arrow was sent flying. Mere seconds later, and it was clear to see that the animal had been shot, but with a wince, Arthur realized too late that he'd hit its flank, injuring but making it far from a clean kill.

 

It was an awful sight as the creature cried out, bleating loudly as it writhed, bright red staining the snow surrounding it.

 

Charles had run ahead, pulling out his knife and effortlessly slitting the deer's throat before it could make any more noise.

 

"Well, it was a solid first try," Charles said, optimistic despite Arthur's obvious blunder. He appreciated that, and with a shrug, refused to take too much credit.

 

"Told ya I'm not the best archer."

 

"You'll improve." Charles was already hefting the blood-soaked animal over one shoulder. "I'll bring her back to the horses. You go on ahead... I saw the rest of the herd flee over through those trees."

 

With a nod, Arthur headed off again, into the surrounding pine trees that speckled the river bed, leading into a much lusher forest. Careful of his footsteps, he didn't have to go too far in before he caught sight of another doe. She was resting between a cluster of trees, having found some unfrozen foliage to feed upon. The way the sun glistened on her fur was actually.. well, beautiful. Maybe Pearson could make someone a nice blanket out of her, at the very least.

 

But, their gang had to be fed, first and foremost, despite the majestic sight of the animal.

 

Drawing his bow yet again, Arthur pulled back, feeling the strain in his fingertips. Then, something to his left sounded like a tree branch breaking, and he was startled, remembering the mention of bears in the area. Unintentionally, his fingers let go too earl, starting an unfortunate chain of events. The doe skittered off. The arrow hit a nearby tree, of all things, and ricocheted fiercely back towards him.

 

_Of all the goddamned luck._

 

It all happened in a blur as he raised his arms in defense, but this time, Arthur's mistake was felt by a stinging, sharp sensation in his upper thigh. He looked down in dumb shock, the shaft of the arrow sticking out of his leg, arrow tip just barely piercing.

 

Arthur swore, and the wind's voice through the trees seemed to laugh at him.

 

"Ah, _shit_."

 

Without thinking, Arthur instantly gripped the shaft and ripped it out. He wasn't sure what possessed him, obviously knowing that removing an arrow and tearing it from flesh wasn't the wisest choice. Perhaps overwhelmed by embarrassment of Charles knowing that _he'd shot his goddamned self_ had overridden his smarts, or his foresight. Either way, blood flowed steadily from the throbbing wound, and Arthur was bent over to observe the damage just as he heard Charles' voice carry once again.

 

They made eye contact, and he watched his gaze drop low, to his leg and the discarded, bloody arrow atop the snow.

 

"Arthur... _your leg_..."

 

"Ricochet," Arthur muttered, as a poor attempt to explain his blunder.

 

Charles' expression was concerned, but far from upset. John was the sort to antagonize him for doing something so stupid, and honestly, Arthur wished he'd been mauled by wolves in the current moment. Charles didn't even tease... was instantly closing the space between them, and getting down on one knee in the snow to pull aside Arthur's coat and observe the damage. Despite the frigid cold, Arthur's face flushed warm. His pride hurt far more than the injury did.

 

"You're lucky," Charles said, index finger and thumb framing the wound as he lightly pressed. "It's a clean tear, and your coat prevented it from going fully in. But your blood... it could attract predators. If we're starving, it's a good chance they are, too."

 

" _Great_ ," Arthur again grumbled, watching as Charles was reaching into his coat pocket. "What're you doin'?"

 

"Extra bandages," Charles said simply. "Been keeping them on me due to my hand."

 

"Well, god bless."

 

Charles offered a reassuring, though admittedly rare, smile, before carefully wrapping fresh bandages around Arthur's leg a few times over. His hands, although one was clearly injured, were deft and gentle, as he tightly dressed the wound.

 

"'Least I won't bleed to death in this cold," Arthur joked, as Charles tied it off. "Blood'll turn to an icicle before then."

 

"Isn't that right?" Giving his hip a gentle pat, Charles rose to his feet again. "Better get back to camp so you can have that looked at properly. We got one for now... it's far better than nothing."

 

Although Arthur wanted to maintain a healthy amount of stubbornness, and prove to himself, and to Charles, that he could catch another deer, he swallowed his pride instead. The last thing he wanted was to attract a goddamned predator and put his friend in danger with his open wound. Besides, now that he knew his way around a bow, he could try again in the morning.

 

They trekked back to their awaiting horses, the deer carcass on the back of Arthur's borrowed steed. Through the biting chill, the two men made small-talk about the fate of the gang, and the weather that would hopefully be soon to thaw... at the very least, they'd have a hot meal until more food was found.

 

Back at camp, the two men dismounted, and Arthur took the liberty of carrying their catch over to Pearson, who was awaiting with a spit and fire. Just in the knick of time too, as the wind was blowing snow sideways, pelting and stinging his face as he walked the short way towards Pearson's quarters. As the animal was flopped down unceremoniously upon the table, Pearson's brows raised, flitting from appreciation to concern as his eyes caught the blood dripping down Arthur's leg.

 

"See you boys got on just fine! Except... that your blood or the deer's?"

 

Arthur cleared his throat, already having been dreading this moment. When he hesitated, about to explain the situation honestly and surely about to be the laughing stock of the camp for the next month, Charles was shoulder-to-shoulder with him.

 

" _His_ ," Charles stepped in. "I fired a shot, and slipped. My mistake... I should have known better with my hand, and Arthur suffered for it."

 

Mouth agape, Arthur exchanged a knowing glance with his hunting companion, and watched as Charles' expression was grim for a moment in time, before the corners of his full lips twitched upwards ever so slightly. Though he couldn't say much in front of Pearson, he was sure that the look on his face alone got the point across. Sacrificing a potentially wounded ego for his own.

 

Charles Smith might be his favorite person on the face of the godforsaken earth.

 

Thank you... thank you... _thank you._

 

"I wouldn't say suffering," Arthur said with a slight chuckle, and patted him on the back. "Wouldn't have a catch without you."

 

Pearson glanced between them, but was none the wiser. He handed over an aged bottle, which looked to be the strong stuff.

 

"Well, glad you had a bonding experience out there. Here, have a drink. Hell, it might help with the pain, both of you. You boys earned it."

 

Earned it, in an unorthodox way, perhaps, but they had succeeded in their desired task.

 

"To more hunting excursions in the future," Arthur said, taking a swig as the booze burned all the way down his throat and made his chest feel warm.

 

He passed the bottle to Charles, the other man's lips lingering against the lip of it, where Arthur's just were.

 

"And to healing." Charles shared in the sipping of the intense Navy Rum, though it didn't seem to faze him nearly as much. "Speaking of, you should go see to that leg."

 

"Yeah, yeah... guess I'll go take care'a this." He paused, unable to bite back the joke forming on his tongue. "Clumsy you."

 

"Yeah, _clumsy me_ ," Charles laughed, offering another smile before taking his leave and disappearing back into the white-out snow. His voice carried back into the cabin by the wind, pleasant and warm despite the freezing environment.

"Take care, Arthur." 

_Will do, friend... will do._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first Red Dead fic but I'm always open to suggestions, or trades if you're interested!


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